


Breathe

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Anorexia, Blowjobs, Cancer, Depressed Harry, Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Smut, Suicidal Harry, Suicidal Louis, Suicide, anorexic louis, basically the lot i still don't even know, handjobs, larry stylinson - Freeform, self-harm!louis, triggering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was just a stranger on the bus on a shitty day.<br/>Louis just wanted to be lucky enough.<br/>Harry just wanted it all to be over.<br/>None of them knew just how much they were going to be needing each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to say this fic is going to be extremely triggering and descriptive at some points so if you have a problem with the stuff mentioned in the tags you probably don't want ot be reading this.  
> This is my second fic, I kind of blanked out on the other one but this seems to be coming to me much easier so I'll be uploading more often. This first chapter is quite long I don't know how the other ones are going to be yet or what direction this fic will be taking but at the moment I hope you enjoy!  
> Thank you so much for reading Xx.

From the moment Louis spills his tea in the morning, he knows it’s going to be one of those days.

It happens all the time. Starts off with an alarm that doesn’t go off, then the water falling down on him at the shower is refusing to heat up, and after a day filled with shit he ends up back in his bed wanting to sleep away his troubles but not being able to.

Cussing under his breath, he hurries up to get another cup ready. The clock tells him that time isn’t stopping for him and he’s probably going to be late again.

‘Good morning!’ says an overly-joyful voice coming out of the radio. Louis wishes he could go back to bed and sleep for another year, and then he could wake up and actually have a good morning.

At the moment, that simply isn’t going to happen, so he swallows the tea quickly even if it is too hot. It’s alright, he’s used to it.

He hears his stomach whine a little, craving something that he’s not going to get. Not today, because if he gives in it will be harder afterwards. So Louis just gets dressed, putting on an oversized sweater that’s one of his favorites because it’s so warm and big and comfy and he feels a little bit safer when it’s what’s protecting him from the world.

Then, he is running down the street, holding his rucksack strap and trying not to get too dirty. He makes it into the bus and flops down on his usual seat next to the window, headphones in and wet spots on his trousers and feet. He focuses his mind on the music and the droplets in the glass. Feeling a bit like in a music video, he thinks that bus time is probably the best time of the day. That’s a little sad, but fair enough for him.

The bus is at the last stop, and he tenses up slightly when he sees that a lot of people are getting in. With his peripheral vision he can see that there aren’t many spaces left, so someone might actually sit next to him, and the thought makes him a little nervous. It’s not that he’s antisocial or anxious; he doesn’t even have to talk to whoever takes the seat, but sharing his personal space makes him feel uneasy. He stares at the reflection of the glass where he can see the people without looking directly at them. The bus is about to leave, and the seat next to him is still empty. He breathes calm and steady.

As the bus is closing his doors, a tall curly haired boy rushes into the bus. He’s out of breath, cheeks bright red from the cold, and damp everything because it just started pouring. He looks slightly embarrassed, and makes his way through the moving bus in an attempt of not being noticed. He fails, but it’s not his fault that his lanky body decides to trip and almost fall a few times. He ends up sitting next to Louis. His body automatically stiffens. He doesn’t look at him, he keeps focused on the window, waiting for his body to get used to the intrusion and relax again.

 But the guy is moving so much. He’s readjusting his hair, and then he’s looking for something that should be in the pockets of his jacket, but apparently it’s not, so he leans in to open his backpack and while he bends their knees make contact. Louis thinks about moving, but maybe that would seem awkward. He might be able to handle a little bit of human contact after all. The kid finally finds what he’s looking for, a stack of papers. He doesn’t stop moving then, because he has to find a pencil, and then he has to bite the end of it. Louis has always thought that that’s disgusting; you never know where that pencil has been.

Louis’ stop is getting closer, and he realizes that there is now an open backpack standing in his way. He has to step over it to get to the doors. He puts his phone and headphones away and shuffles on his seat slightly trying to give signs that he’s about to get up. The other boy doesn’t notice since he’s too busy writing down something. He’s finally getting up and there’s still no reaction. As he’s about to say something, two eyes finally shot up at him and then back at the floor.

‘Oops.’ A low raspy voice says. The guy is picking up the bag from the floor and putting it on the alley to let him get through. Louis looks at him for a brief second catching a little polite smile that he returns.

‘Thanks.’ He mumbles before stepping out of the bus. And there it goes. The first nice moment of his day gone, now he has to bear with the rest of day in order to enjoy the ride back home. The cold breeze hits him like a train, sending a shiver down his spine, so he starts moving. The faster the day goes, the sooner he’ll be back at home.

Class is bad. His English teacher yells at him for being late. He is given tons of homework. In History this annoying girl sits behind him and spends the whole hour giggling with her friends, and he can’t stop wondering if they’re laughing at him. He shakes his leg nervously and tries to forget about the itching of his throat, and makes it through to PE, where he can sit on the sides and do nothing, since the teacher decided to believe him when he said he was sick.

He leans on his back, lifting his feet of the ground and silently humming along to the music. The rest of the people are doing warm up exercises, but there’s one guy that seems to be walking towards him. He looks a bit like a model, in a leather jacket and perfectly quiffed hair, phone already in hand. Although he might seem a bit intimidating, Louis knows him. He’s Zayn, the tough guy who sits in the back of the class and doesn’t give a fuck what people say about him. He’s a loner, like Louis, but in a cooler way. People respect him, and he just carries on with his stuff. They’ve talked before. Not much, but enough for both of them.

He sits a couple of feet away from Louis. He likes that, personal space is important to him. They exchange a little smile and a nod, before drifting back to their own music.

Louis can’t say he doesn’t get any pleasure from seeing his classmates run around panting for air while he does nothing, but sometimes he wishes he could be running around like them. He can’t. Not anymore. There was a time when Louis could run and beat all the other kids when they raced on the playground. He could play football, have his team cheer for him when he scored, which happened often. There was a time he could go to the swimming pool with his family.

A fucking swimming pool.

Seems so far away now. The simple thought of even going anywhere a swimming pool makes him feel nervous. Swimming means exposing everything. Skin, covered in scars, and wounds, and burns. Thighs and arms covered in flab. Voluptuous stomach, the fat rolls. Chest. Hips. Legs. Everything. It’s all too much.

In front of him he can see perfect bodies. The girls, all looking pretty. Even those who people call fat and ugly behind their backs. Some are soft, some are tougher, with long hair, with short hair, dark, straight, brunettes, blondes, long eyelashes, freckles, perfectly curved bodies, beautiful legs, beautiful everything. He can look at them and see something nice.

The boys, all looking pretty as well. Tall, and short, some with a bit of stubble on their faces, looking old, some still with baby faces looking quite adorable. They are running and their bodies are showing off. He spots Josh, the captain of the football team. He’s so good looking. Louis may or may not have drooled over him before. Next to him is that Niall kid. He got transferred last year, apparently he’s a bit of a genius. He’s cute, there’s no other way to put it. With his dyed blonde hair, and Irish accent, and loud laugh there’s not a single person who doesn’t like him. He could go on staring at the numerous attractive guys in front of him, but he knows better. Although he might be invisible sometimes it doesn’t mean people can’t see him sometimes. A little mistake and suddenly everyone’s got a new rumor to spread around like a virus. And so it begins, the little comments go from being whispered to thrown at his face. And suddenly, you’re not just a guy no one cares about, you’re the guy everyone hates, and this time they even have a reason.

So yeah, Louis is so deep in the closet he’s having dinner at Mr. Tumnus’ in Narnia, at least in the eyes of everyone at school. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like if things were different. If everyone could just be themselves without having to worry, because there’s no way he’s the only closet case in school. Louis might be unnoticeable, but he notices others. He sees eyes that wander way too long on someone’s bum, or eyes widening in fear at the mention of certain things. He doesn’t miss the “something else” hidden behind a smile.

 He knows the reason Stacey Brooke turned Mike Callaghan was that she was too busy crushing hard on Sophie Adams.

He knows Rick Williams doesn’t really enjoy having his girlfriend’s tongue down his throat when Josh Devine is running around the football field covered in sweat.

He knew Stan Lucas really wasn’t that drunk when he snogged some guy at Sophie’s party. Not that his excuses made any difference, since he ended up changing schools to avoid the constant names and looks and words in general. No one’s heard a thing about him.

A loud whistle interrupts his little thinking session. Good, he always thinks too much. Bad, because it means it’s lunch time.

People are rushing around him on the halls, going to the cafeteria. He’s not going there, too many people, too much food. No, thanks. Louis is walking towards the bathroom, as usual. He hates it. It smells awful and the stalls are depressingly small and ugly and the doors are painted and it’s really cold. He sits down and takes out the sandwich his mum had left the night before on the fridge, ready for him. He didn’t have time to take any proper lunch this morning, so he’ll had to pass by taking what he needs from it.

Even by just holding it in his hand and looking through the paper, he knows it’s a special Mama Tomlinson. Meaning everything you could possibly fit in a sandwich is in there. He opens it and takes a look at the layers. There’s some tomato in there that he could’ve eaten, it tastes alright and it’s soft and easy to chew, but it’s right next to the mayonnaise layer so there’s no way he’s gonna eat it. The lettuce seems alright, not all of it, but some bits are clean, so he takes those and chews them slowly. The chicken doesn’t look too greasy, so he takes a big bite and without chewing it he puts it in his hand, takes the rest and throws it out to the bin so that he won’t be tempted. He chews the piece left in small bites and does some calculations on his mind about what else he’s gonna be eating today. It’s gonna be less than usual because he still hasn’t forgiven himself for gaining half a pound last week, even if it wasn’t actually his fault that he had to eat dinner with his family and they wouldn’t let him go back to his room until he helped doing the dishes and questioning him about the existence of the universe. So he stood there and waited, with a smile plastered on his face and feeling his whole body stiff. He tried to block the screaming voices in his head telling whispering the number of calories he was getting absorbed per second. He tried to bear with the feeling of the food sitting on his stomach like a bag of stones. He waited patiently until he was free to go and lock himself in his bathroom and get rid of all the unnecessary food. He could say hi to his old friend and go back to emptiness. It was gross, but necessary. Unfortunately, some of the substance had already been absorbed by his undernourished system and it showed on the scale. Felt like being hit by a truck when the number showed up. It was mocking him, reminding him just how weak he is, how easy it is to slip. And he felt it as well, he felt the new fat joining the old one, just hanging from his bones and weighting him down. The sting of the new cuts he had given himself after seeing what he had done and cried a little bit, it was on his fat thighs and stomach, brushing too much against the fabric of his clothes.

So, no. He couldn’t afford to exceed from his diet today.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Louis, honey, if you have homework to do you can go home. I’m sure the kids will understand.’

‘It’s alright mum, I can do them later.’ He answers while he picks another color from the crayon basket.

He’s somehow managed to fit into the little plastic chairs gathered around the tiny table set in the middle of a colorful room. There’s noise everywhere, kids talking and playing and some cartoon going off in the TV behind them. Phoebe is sitting on his lap and Phoebe is next to him. They’re painting on this paper that takes up almost the whole table, and it’s filled with suns and trees and flowers and mums and monkeys because they’re the twin’s favourite animal.

‘How was your day, girls?’

‘Good! We played football in the recess and we won.’ Said Daisy proudly.

‘That’s great! Deserves a high five.’ He says holding up his hand for her. She sticks her tongue out while responding.

‘What about you, Pheebs?’

‘Nurse Annie brought us cookies and let us eat them for lunch. I like Annie a lot. But Grace had to leave the room. They told us she was going to a better place and we won’t see her for a while. It’s okay, I want her to be happy in a better place because she looked not happy and tired yesterday. I always thought she was an angel.’

Louis swallows hard trying to keep his eyes from watering. It’s not the first time that one of the kids passes away, but it’s always hard to hear them talk about it. He knows Grace, or at least he knew her. She was a cutie, all bright green eyes and smiles, and really pale skin and a laugh you heard from the room next door. Had a mop of curly hair when she first arrived, but it slowly fell leaving her bald. Pretty much like most kids in the cancer section. Just like Phoebe.

He looked back at the paper to keep helping Daisy color a princess’ dress because why the fuck not.

‘I’m sure she’ll be happy, love.’ The three of them keep coloring and playing and joking for a while, and then Jay’s done with her shift.

‘It’s time to go now.’ She says giving Phoebe a bone crushing hug. It hurts having to say goodbye not knowing if it’s going to be the last time you see her. Anything could happen any minute, you could get a call at 3am saying that she’s not doing well and rush over there to find it was too late. They try not to think about it too much, it really does hurt.

Before he leaves, he says goodbye to Liam, a guy about his age with kidney cancer that had been in and out for years. You could say they’re friends, except for the fact that they haven’t got each other’s numbers or have seen each other outside the hospital. Maybe it would be good to start doing that, he thinks sometimes about it. But then he remembers that he can’t afford having friends. Not ones that might die any moment, not even ones that are perfectly fine because he himself could die any moment. So he keeps it low, friendly stares and occasional conversations every now and then.

The ride back home isn’t any different than the usual. Louis sits in the back, squished between Fizzy and Daisy. Lottie’s got the front seat next to their mum covered. She’s sitting spread out and texting someone on her phone while she chews gum. When she first started claiming her right to sit in the front he was pissed off and would often try to get to the car faster than her. At some point he just stopped caring, left it to her and thought that he might as well take the chance to sit with the little ones and pretend to be one of them again. She was a teenager after all, and there were some things you just had to experience, like finally not being treated like a baby.

It’s late, 7.30pm and they still have to have dinner and send the girls to bed, and he has to catch up with school work. There’s a chemistry test the next day and he hasn’t studied anything for it. He feels the pressure coming at him. Suddenly he realizes how everyone is talking too loud. The radio is pumping some electronic stuff Lottie seems to have got obsessed over lately. Louis feels like everything is suffocating him all of a sudden. His own thoughts are too loud; he’s scared of himself for no reason. He feels stupid, this isn’t normal; he shouldn’t be panicking out of the blue. He hopes nobody notices the cold sweat on his hands or the sudden paleness taking over his face. He wants to get out of the car and breathe in the cold air of the night mixed with the smell of wet grass after a whole day raining. The wait isn’t too long, and when they finally arrive and he hops out of the car he makes a show of stretching out so that he can stay out longer. He hates when stuff like this happens, even if it’s not very often. It’s like a reminder that he’s not alright, he’s fucked up in ways he can’t even bring himself to think about. The cold is wrapping him up, and he feels weak, both physically and mentally. His vision is a blur of shades and colors and dark. He stares at the other side of the road while running his hands through his hair.

That’s when he notices someone familiar. He’s walking ahead, phone held over his ear in one hand and the other one busy with a cigarette by his mouth. His face just happens to be hit by a dim light showing his sharp features and leather jacket. Out of all the people he was expecting to see, Zayn was the last one.

Louis’ family is quite wealthy. They live on the rich part of the city, in a big house, in a neighborhood that just screams “Filthy Rich”. Zayn isn’t really poor, he couldn’t afford going to Louis’ school if he was, but there’s no way he could live anywhere near the area. It wouldn’t even be that weird to see him walking around there if it wasn’t because most of the time the streets are deserted. There’s nothing to do, no shops, no clubs, no bars or cafeterias, nothing at all. It’s just strange. Sure, there has to be an explanation. He must be friends with someone who lives around there, but as far as he knows Zayn isn’t very sociable, so maybe…family? A girlfriend?

About an hour later, while his half written essay and text books are sitting on his desk, Louis decides it’s the perfect moment to go on his laptop and do a little research about Zayn. That’s right, not creepy at all, not stalking, just research.

There’s not that much he can find. The kid doesn’t have a facebook page, only a twitter where he barely posts anything except casual deep quotes and about three selfies. He scrolls down his followers and following and doesn’t find much. He doesn’t know half of the people, there are some from school and others who share last names. Nothing stands out. He’s a little disappointed to be honest.

‘Lou, dinner’s ready.’ Says Fizzy’s voice from outside the door after a light knock.

He turns off his computer hoping that it would keep him from wasting his time on it afterwards and heads down to the kitchen. He can smell it from the stairs, and he knows that any other person would find it delicious but he doesn’t. He wants to throw up already even if there’s nothing on his stomach at the moment. He sits and eats. Or so they think. He tries to talk, plays around with the food on his plate and cutting it into the smallest pieces. He does take a small bite that he chews for ages before swallowing. And then it’s time to start clearing up a little so he stuffs his mouth with as much food as he can fit. And then he gets up to blow his nose, but instead he actually spits it on the piece of paper that goes into the rubbish can.  

After they’re done and he’s free to go upstairs he feels good that he didn’t eat too much. He notices that even if today started off bad, in the end not everything went like shit. He doesn’t even feel like cutting. That is at least until an hour later he’s facing a load of school work he just doesn’t understand or wants to do. That’s when he breaks down, and ends up in his bed, curled up to try and get some heat, with a stinging feeling on his legs and even arms since he couldn’t resist but go there too to feel the wonderful pain. There are some tears running down his face and he is trying to ignore them. His eyelids feel heavy, and his whole body is asking for a night of sleep to try and forget everything. So he drifts away, with a thought echoing on his mind. _It is what it is, just let it be._ Because after all, it was just one of those days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny but strong, also it's quite important to get into the story. Sorry it took ages for me to upload, it's been a few rough weeks for me.  
> Also, this chapter is really TRIGGERING so please don't read if you know it's gonna be too much.

When the alarm goes off in the morning of a very cold day two weeks later, Harry feels as if every single stone in existence was weighting him down on his bed. He’s absolutely paralyzed to the extent that it seems impossible to even stretch his arm to turn on the light. He doesn’t move at all for a long time, there are so many thoughts dancing his head but none of them are clear enough to listen to, it’s like standing in the middle of a crowded room where everyone’s talking nonsense and the words are getting tangled up on each other in a complicated fabric that sticks everywhere. He tries to get rid of it, to stop it from turning him crazy but he can’t. He knows he should be getting up, he should be having a shower to get rid of the disgusting sweat that’s somehow appeared out of nowhere during his sleep. And he should be eating breakfast, getting the fuel necessary to make it through the day without his whole body aching for rest after a couple of hours. And lastly, he should leave for school like a normal person because every second he’s spending in bed is another wasted moment. It’s not even clear anymore whether he does this because he doesn’t find the point in getting up or because he’s physically unable two. Maybe it’s a mix of both. Maybe he can blame it on his stupid piece of wasted flesh and bone. They are like dead weight, refusing to move. It’s completely silent; his brain has even managed to block the sound of his breath, just to leave him alone with his thoughts.

After a while that feels like an eternity and two seconds at the same time he starts hearing noise outside and realizes that he really has to get up now before his mum walks in and drags him out of bed between comments on how lazy he is. Using every tiny bit of will power, he turns on the light and pulls away the covers immediately regretting it. The sudden brightness stings in his tired eyes from a night of very little sleep, and they start to water in a lame attempt of protecting themselves from burning. Because of that damn full body mirror that couldn’t have possibly been placed in a worse spot, the first thing he sees is his own reflection and he wants to rip off his own skin.

 A pair of tired, dull green eyes bathing in red look back at him from the top of his dark bags. His face is pale and awful, covered in disgusting pimples that just won’t go away. His thin body aches, every single bone asking for rest. Even a reflection tells how much better it would feel if it was back in bed. His hair is sticking up in every single direction and apparently it looks just as greasy and dirty as it feels. He sighs and closes his eyes to try and forget his own appearance.

Outside he hears the shower running and he’s quite positive that it’s really fucking late. He’s going to have to run to catch the bus again. He’s quite sure that he looks like he just got beaten up, but having just enough time to throw on sweatpants and a few more layers of clothing that seem clean and warm enough to make it to class, he walks out on an empty stomach and a sad mind.

The people walk past him on the street, everyone busy in their own things. Busy suited people talking on their phones, parents too worried about the little toddlers who are walking by their side and trying to step on every single crunchy fallen leaf. There are also some people who waste a second to look at him, but look away obviously disgusted by what they see. He keeps walking ahead, knowing that the slow pace he currently has will earn him a little run later. He’s thinking about the literature exam he has today which he didn’t study for.

For once, the bus arrives later than him, and from the moment he’s making his way to his seat he begins to picture what things would be like without him. The bus driver wouldn’t have to wait for him and reopen the doors every day. The guy with the headphones would be able to put his stuff on the then empty seat next to him instead of holding it in his hands like he always does. And then, as the day, he notices that his friendless self wouldn’t be the reason the economy teacher has the reorganize the groups so that no one is left alone. And of course he wouldn’t be the reason that working on the project feels awkward and forced since no one really wants to talk to Harry. Every single moment of the day he spends it dreading his own existence, whishing he could just disappear and stop causing trouble. It’s not that he hasn’t thought about this before, planned it even, but seeing every single little reason why he should do it only serves to make one of the voices in his head turn louder and louder.

That afternoon is not the first time he gets back home and sits on the floor on the verge of tears trying to convince himself he’s not crazy. Maybe he is a little bit but that doesn’t mean his plan is stupid. It’s the best for everyone and he knows it. Too many times he has heard of attempted suicides that don’t work out, and people being treated like selfish freaks. He doesn’t want that, so it must be planned perfectly. In a box under his bed, there is some helpful stuff. There’s a bottle of vodka, a shitload of pills, some razors, even a rope.

After researching on the internet and planning out carefully he’s almost sure of how he’ll do it. There are a million ways he could do it, but a little bit of bad luck and the smallest slip on most of them could mess everything up. So he’s going to do whatever it takes to succeed. With shaky hands he tries to write a letter for his mum and sister but everything seems too pathetic and stupid, so in the end he just pulls out a piece of paper and writes two simple lines saying he’s sorry and he wishes them to be happy. He signs it and leaves it on his bed. It’s quite late, but not late enough. The clock is counting down the time he’s got left to live and he knows it.

The minutes go by, turning into hours, Harry’s eyes struggle to stay open, but he knows it’s for the best because if he holds on then later he’ll finally be able to keep them closed forever. He waits, cries a little and checks everything. Turns off his mobile, deletes some stuff from his laptop. Looks at pictures, cries a little more.

When it’s finally late enough, he picks up his backpack with everything he needs and leaves the house through the back door making sure nobody hears him. He’s finally walking down the empty streets with the freezing cold wind around him and a cling of crystal bottle on his back. There isn’t anyone out at this time; he hopes it’s the same where he’s going. The walk there takes a while, but he finally makes it to the bridge. It’s high enough, he’s sure, he’s googled it a million times. Every single inch that separates the hard pavement underneath and the rocky material of the bridge is necessary.

The white and grey stone looks clean and ready, everything looks peaceful and calm, the moon is shining full and bright in the starry sky. Looks like a perfect night. He holds back the horrible sobs that have started while he was walking and furiously rubs his reddened eyes. Slowly he empties his backpack. With shaky hands, the pills go first. A whole bottle down should be enough according to what he’s read. Then he takes the vodka to wash them down and drinks even if his throat feels like fire and he thinks maybe the drink alone would’ve been enough to kill him. He’s feeling a little dizzy and burning pain on the inside, but after he can’t take anymore he stops and takes the razors. He’s not very familiar with this to be honest, but he’s practiced on paper before. He holds it making sure it’s the right angle to cut deep and starts slashing the skin on his left arm. Vertically, following the line of his veins that can be seen through the milky skin. He feels like shit already, and he still has to do the other arm. His sigh is turning blurry with tears again, the second line may or may not be a mess but it has to work. He’s never wanted anything else to work as much as he wants this. There’s a voice on the back of his head shouting him to stop, but it’s too loud in there with all the thoughts telling him to carry on and hurry up. Pain turns into a numb feeling and everything is a spinning blur of shadows. He notices he’s sitting on the floor now, apparently his knees turned weak at some point and he didn’t even notice. He starts to get up, with the help of his bloody hands. He doesn’t feel human anymore; it should be a good sign.

After struggling quite a bit he’s standing up on the edge. That’s it, this is the moment.

He tries to take a deep breath. A voice is screaming his name.

Just as he’s about to jump when he hears it.

‘Harry!’

Everything feels out of control now, he turns his head around sloppily to spot the source of the scream, accidentally turning the rest of his body too.

There’s somebody running towards him. Worried they might try to stop him; he turns around and jumps as fast as his body lets him. His eyelids give in and everything is dark and cold around him.

Nothing.

There’s nothing anymore.

It’s finally over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off Happy Holidays everybody! I hope you're all enjoying them and if you're not then it's okay because they're gonna be over soon so better times will come. For now here's the third chapter, it's not very good but hopefully later on the story it will be better I just need to get things going.   
> Also I hope Google isn't lying and the medical info and stuff isn't wrong, sorry I'm not an expert!  
> Thanks for reading xx

‘I’m so sorry, honey. They really needed people on here, do you think you can make time for everything? I can call one of my friends and ask for help, I don’t think they would…’

‘Mum. It’s alright. I understand, and you don’t have to call anyone I’ve done this before, remember?’

Jay sighs on the other side of the phone. Louis heart slows down from the race that it had been running just a few seconds ago.

‘Okay, call me if you need anything. I have to go now, love you.’

‘Love you too, bye.’

With that, he is left alone again, sitting on the kitchen table all by himself. The house is empty right now and it’s a little scary, but it's alright because Phoebe isn't dead. And the reason his mum rushed off in the middle of the night without a warning isn't his little sister passing away so it's fine really. He can handle being alone. When he was younger he used to hate it, even being in a room so far away from his parents and noise just in general was frightening. Things have changed, now the monsters aren’t hiding in silence and shadows, they have moved to his mind and he can’t get rid of them so there’s not much a dim light hanging over his head could do. He notices he’s been sitting for a while now, and really, there’s no point for him to be in the kitchen in the first place since he’s already eaten too much today. The phone's still in his hand, probably uncharging, he's barefoot and his feet are getting cold. Maybe a pair of socks would be nice.

The clock says he still has another hour left until he has to pick up his sisters from football and ballet, so he goes up to his bedroom trying to ignore the aching of his bones as he climbs upstairs to the rythm of the creaking wood. He plays the One Republic album his mum got him for his last birthday and lays in bed with his laptop on his legs. He opens twitter, out of boredom and scrolls down his short feed. There’s nothing too special to see around, except that something suddenly stands out. It’s a tweet from Niall Horan. Even if he does not remember at all following him, he’s busy reading to think about that in that very same moment.

_@Niall_Horan: @zaynmalik hey mate we can go see him already sorry they didn’t have your number, you okay?_

This seems like a completely harmless tweet, but there are some strange things about it. Louis wants to blame all the times he’s watched Sherlock on how much he’s reading into it, but first off, since when are Niall and Zayn mates? Not that there is a single person that doesn’t get on well with the blonde lad, but still. Apparently they have a friend in common, that would be a sign of Zayn actually knowing people outside school. Why didn’t someone have his number if they’re friends? What is with the formalities? Why should he be not okay? And most important of all, who is _him_? There are too many questions unanswered and Louis kind of wants to forget he ever saw anything.

He keeps thinking about it while he drives to pick up the girls, and while they chatter in the background in their dirty football boots and tight ballet buns and he nods and smiles along. Once they get to the hospital, their mum is one of the first people they see. He finds himself being pushed into a bone crushing hug.

‘Hello, my dear. Was everything good? Did you manage well?’

‘Yes, it was fine. How’re you? You must be tired.’

‘Yes, I’m exhausted, but it’s been a long night. Lots of work to do on emergencies. Loads of drama, if you ask me. But it’s better now. And you, my girls, how are you all? I’ve missed seeing you today.’ She turns to her daughters while Louis steps back turning to Daisy’s room.

She’s sleeping at the moment. It’s quite heartbreaking to see her like this. When she sleeps she looks so small and fragile. Without his strong laugh it feels like she’s too little. The room smells like hospital, the walls are too white and the lights are too bright. He sits by her side for a while, just watching her peacefully asleep with her chest moving up and down with every breath she takes. Then he finds himself getting up and leaving because a nurse tells him she probably won’t wake up and he should leave and let her rest. Outside he wanders around the usual area and goes to take a cup of water from the machine. Next to it he sees Liam talking to a blonde girl. He vaguely recognizes her from seeing her around before, but no name or association pops into his head. When he’s by their side he smiles a little.

‘Hi, Louis.’

‘Hi.’

‘Have you ever met Ruth? She’s my sister.’

‘Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Louis.’

‘Same. Are you intern as well?’

‘No, one of my sisters is. Also my mum’s a nurse so we end up spending a lot of time here.’

They keep on making small talk and he finds himself actually enjoying this little bit of human contact with somebody else than his family. It feels quite nice, really. After a while, Jay appears again.

‘Oh, hello there. Ruth, I was actually looking for you. We might be keeping one of the guys form last night intern in your area so maybe a friendly face would be nice. You must be about his age so you could show him around, keep him some company. Would be nice for him, you must remember what it was like when you arrived and Angela helped you, right?’

‘Yeah, sure, no problem. How is he?’

‘Still unconscious, but we’ve got him stabilized at least. It might be better if he stays like this for a while to spare him the pain. He was pretty bad when he arrived, probably wouldn’t have lasted any longer than a couple of hours without treatment. But he was lucky. It was all one big miracle, really.’

‘What happened to him?’ asked Louis, as he was feeling a bit left out because everyone seemed to know more than him. The moment he did he saw the same look on the other’s eyes and knew he shouldn’t have asked.

‘He attempted suicide.’

And of course, only Louis would be stupid enough not to put together the pieces of information and avoid awkward silences. Even if he wasn’t really sure what Ruth was intern for, it still felt strange to talk about this stuff. Especially when his own mind had pictured before a situation in which he would be that guy, trying to kill himself, but in his case he would actually go all the way with it. It’s not that Louis was constantly suicidal, but sometimes when things got too much he would consider it. Maybe even work out the best moment to do it. But he couldn’t do it. His sisters and his mum need him. Maybe they don’t need him, precisely, but they need someone. Even if Louis can’t be the helpful someone he hopes at least his own self will be able to help them until they find someone better. Maybe until they find that they can be strong on their own. One day Daisy will be another healthy girl, running around without worries and with a normal life. His mum won’t be working all day just to pay everything. Felicity won’t cry anymore. Lottie will stop faking smiles and actually showing sincere ones. Phoebe will stop missing her twin all the time, and she’ll stop being bored without her. One day, Louis will not be needed anymore. Maybe then he could start letting his brain think about suicide, but until then he was to swallow the lump in his throat and keep relying on the sharp blades that give him the illusion of relief.

 

* * *

 

When Zayn walks through the front door of the hospital and holds it open for the woman who is walking out he doesn’t expect at all to find Louis Tomlinson holding a little girl on his arms and two more behind him. He gives him a little smile and a nod and waits for them to cross before leaving. He doesn’t really know where to go, he’s tired and worried and fairly aware that he looks like he hasn’t had any sleep in days but it doesn’t really matter. He walks up to the counter and nervously waits for the receptionist to hang up the phone.

‘Hello, may I help you?’

‘Hi, yeh, I’m looking for Harry Styles? He was brought in last night.’

The girl types in the name on the computer and finds the information she needs immediately.

‘Harry Edward Styles?’

Zayn hesitates, he’s not really sure what the middle name of the guy is.

‘I guess, yeah. He’s about 17?’

She looks again to the screen a bit taken aback and nods.

‘He’s in room 306, 3rd floor to the left.’

‘Thank you.’ he says before speeding off to the open elevator. It’s really big so he doesn’t notice at first but then he spots Niall leaning against the mirror on the back. He’s got his phone in one hand and he’s biting the nails of the other one, looking quite nervous.

‘Oh, hi mate. Glad you could make it.’

‘What have you heard from him?’

‘Well, he literally just woke up, his mum texted me three minutes ago or so? He’s stable as well, the doctors couldn’t believe how lucky he got. And it’s all because of you…jesus Zayn I’m never gonna thank you enough for this.’

‘It was just a coincidence, really. Had it been someone else they would’ve done the same. I’m glad he’s okay.’

‘Yeah, me too. Apparently he’s gonna have to spend a while in here but it’s better than nothing.’

The elevator door opens and everyone walks out. The two boys turn left and spot the door with the wanted number. Niall knocks on the door and opens it slowly to spot his friend lying in bed with a shitload of tubes and weird stuff around him. His stomach flips around. God, he looks so bad. He’s pale and weak, even in the way he looks at them slowly as if his eyelids were too heavy. He wants to cry, but somehow he swallows the lump in his throat and walks up to his side.

‘Harry. Thank God you’re alright.’

He wants to pull him into a hug so that his body is reassured that he won’t lose him again, but he’s afraid to even touch him, especially when he looks like he doesn’t want to be there at all and he can't physically hug him back.

Zayn walks in behind him and doesn’t say anything, he just looks at Harry with a vague look. He’s not sure how Harry is gonna react to him. Does he remember even seeing him? He’s pretty sure Harry had already passed out when he crumbled on his feet and nearly fell over to the other side, but maybe he did catch him in the eye when he turned around so violently.

His mum is sitting on a chair right by his side with smeared make up on her face and a tissue hold tight on her hand. She looks absolutely heartbroken and confused. Harry doesn’t say anything yet.

‘Harry. Why did you do it? Do you really want to die? What’s so bad that made you do this?’

Harry looks into Niall’s eyes and then back away. There are too many things he’s thinking but none of them make sense. He’s only been awake for a while, his brain is fogged with thought, his whole body aches, and he’s not ready for this.

‘I don’t know. Not now, please.’ He says with a cracked voice while a single tear rolls down his cheek. He hadn’t even noticed he was starting to cry until he feels the wetness. Thankfully Niall understands his answer and stays silent letting him think. It’s all too quiet, the beeping of his the machine stuck to his heart being the only thing to break the silence. He’s full on crying. Just sitting there while the tears fall as if he had no control over them.

There are too many things going on right now, and he has no control. What is going to happen now? He might have to go back to school, but everyone will know, and they will treat him like scum. Being invisible was okay, but he knows he’s too weak to deal with daily reminders of what a piece of shit he is. No, that can’t happen, please. He’d rather drop out of school, or move to Alaska. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to mess up things. Apparently he didn’t even manage to make the fall, he passed out on the safe ground. If that isn’t a stupid miscalculation then he doesn’t even know. He’s such a disgrace, a poor excuse of a human being who can’t even properly kill himself.

He looks around. Maybe he was wrong about being completely alone in this world. His mum did actually care enough to worry about him, she is upset. Gemma is apparently driving back from Sheffield. Niall is there as well. And then there’s Zayn. They hadn’t really exchanged many words before to be honest, but he had saved his life after all. It was weird to think that an almost stranger would help him. Even if Zayn turns out to be one of the greatest people ever who just couldn’t let someone die, it still feels nice to know that someone out there cares. He still hasn’t said a word, he’s just sitting there looking at his feet and at him every now and then with tired eyes filled with worry. The poor guy is suddenly caught up in some way on the crazy and depressing world of Harry fuckup Styles.

He realizes he’s been thinking too much when his mind is full of analyses of the universe and existentialism and some other shit he may or may not have read on Wikipedia, but suddenly he snaps back to earth and his mind goes back to school.

He looks up to Niall and feeling like the most selfish person ever he speaks again.

‘How many people know?’ his blonde friend, who had been looking down at his hands looks up to him a little startled by the sudden question. He takes a second to answer.

‘I don’t know. I guess just us?’ he looks at Anne with hesitation.

‘I called your school a couple of hours ago. Your teachers know but not your classmates. Unless you two told anyone?’ she says.

Niall and Zayn exchange looks.

‘I don’t think anyone knows.’ He tries to speak out in the most reassuring voice he can. Harry looks visually calmed down by that.

‘I’d like it to stay like that.’ a lump on his throat is starting to form.

‘Baby, we can ask the teachers not to tell but if they think it’s necessary to tell them for keeping you safe then it might be for the better.’

‘Mum. I’m not gonna try to kill myself in school.’ And oh, that definitely came out harsher than he wanted. He sees the fear and worry in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t mean to say it like that, as if he was going to keep trying to commit every two seconds from now on. As if he knew better than her what to do to keep everyone form stopping him again. “saving”. How stupid, he doesn’t need to be saved.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just think I can make my own decisions.’

‘Well that method hasn’t worked out very well so far, huh?’ an unknown voice says. Standing by the door there is a nurse. He vaguely recognizes her from the first moments of being conscious, but it’s all really blurry and to be honest the face on his mind could be the pretty brunette. She’s got big wild curly hair and a nice caramel coloured skin, she seems nice enough, and even though the last comments kicks into his gut like a knife he knows she’s right.

‘Harry, you have to know, after your health is reestablished we’re not gonna let you go. We’ve got a juvenile psychiatric ward and you’re gonna be spending some time there.’

Oh, so they’re really gonna treat him like a total freak. He gives a betrayed look to his mum but deep down he’s blaming himself, it’s his entire fault for being so stupid.

‘Truth be told that it’s not going to be like home, but people are nice, you might even have fun. At least you don’t have to go to school.’

‘Harry, this is Danielle, one of your nurses. And I’m Doctor Irwin. Good to see you in a better state than before.’ A man says walking in after Danielle. He turns to Anne mostly but keeps talking out loud to make sure Harry hears. ‘The results are in; everything seems to be in place. Of course his body is quite exhausted and we’re gonna keep the intravenous until everything readjusts. He might feel pain in his stomach, but it’s nothing out of control. Besides that, he was lucky enough that he didn’t lose too much blood but the cuts were pretty deep so the wounds will take long to heal and he must pay attention to them every few hours. Here you have some instructions for when he leaves this. The responsible of the juvenile ward will have all the information and instructions necessary to take care of him but it’s still important for you to have a copy of these.’ He hands out a paper to his mum, who only takes a quick look at it before her eyes are welling up again. She tries to be strong while the tears threaten to fall.

‘It’s gonna be alright. He’s a tough one.’ He says to her with a sympathetic smile.

‘Now, are you feeling anything strange?’ this question is directed towards Harry. There are tubes going into his skin, his arms are wrapped up in white bandages, his stomach feels weak and hurts quite a lot. Of course this feels strange; he is in hospital after all. He tried to commit suicide, holy shit. Realization hits him like a brick.  He did this to himself, he actually had the power to do it. And just like that he knows that he can do it again, but better. He can prove them all wrong, show that they will be much better without him. Everyone seems to be trying to say that he’s the mad one, but in reality they have no idea. Maybe it’s like Danielle’s sharp comments, they hurt but in the end they’re what bring you out of your mistake.

He notices the doctor’s still waiting for answer. Clipboard in hand and hope in his eyes.

‘I don’t think so.’ An almost too real laugh echoes in the back of his head at the stupidity of the answer, if not the question itself. Strange is arguably a perfect term to describe Harry’s mind. A mess, not normal, out of control, strange.

‘Alright, son. We’ll check on you later.’ He says before leaving.

‘Boys, I’m sorry but it’s late and visit hours are over. You have to leave. Ms Cox, you can stay a little longer if you want, but seeing that he’s doing nothing but progress I don’t think it’s entirely necessary, a little sleep could really help getting rid of the stress.’ Danielle tells them.

Zayn and Niall stand up, even if a bit reluctant. Anne seems to think about it for a second. Harry just looks at his mum’s exhausted eyes and knows she has to sleep.

‘Mum, just go to bed. I’m going to be alright.’

‘Okay, honey. I’ll come as fast as possible if something happens during the night. Otherwise I’ll be here in the morning. Have a good night, baby. Love you so much, don’t forget that.’ she says giving him a hug and a few kisses.

‘Yeah, I love you too.’ He says with the little air that the hug’s leaving him.

‘I’ll come back tomorrow too.’ Niall says.

‘But school and the bakery…’ Harry mumbles.

‘It’s Saturday Haz, no school. And I’m pretty sure somebody can cover my turn in the bakery. S’not like I do much to be honest.’ He says ruffling Harry’s hair.

‘Yeah, I’ll come too.’ Zayn shyly says. Harry is thankful for the nice gesture even if the kid’s just wasting his time.

After that, the room is cleared. Even Danielle has to go off to some other patient’s room. He’s left alone in the silence once more. The beeping machine is no longer on, so it’s just him and his steady breathing. Fucking stupid breathing that shouldn’t be happening because he shouldn’t be alive, his brain reminds him. Every inch of his body burns in hatred for himself. He wants to hold his breath and wait for his body to shut down, but he knows he can’t. They would know, he would give up and breathe, his body would keep running because of the god knows what that’s being thrown into his veins through the pale tubes. There’s nothing he can do but wait. Wait, days, maybe weeks, but hopefully he’ll be able to put on a good enough act to leave soon enough. And then he’ll take the little bit of control back and use it to end it again. Because there’s no way he’ll fail again. Maybe it’s not over yet, but it will.

There’s nothing that can stop it. 


End file.
